


La petite mort

by Entomancy



Series: Survival Games [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M, Survival Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entomancy/pseuds/Entomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Can be read independently of other Survival Games fics, but does make more sense in context.)</p><p>It’s not like the Games are intended to be relaxing, but the aftermath of this one goes a little differently than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La petite mort

There was Sjin's hand in this. Xephos leaned against one of the edging pillars to the observation platform – which were also glass, and split the sourceless sunlight into prismic rainbows across the rest of the floating surface – as he peered down again at the battleground that had housed this Game.

Boulevards of smooth grey stone and vaulted archwork swept inwards like the spokes of a great wheel, leading towards the looming aggregation of spiral-roofed towers that speared up from the centre of the town, webbed together with walkways and precarious bridges. He knew Ridge used Sjin to set these up sometimes, after he had discovered the architect's proclivities towards devious design, and the results were – well, pretty much what Xephos would have expected to happen if you took human limits off someone like Sjin.

They were also the Games he seemed to die the most in, which was irritating. He knew he shouldn't keep track, and it wasn't like Ridge left anyone with real, to-the-bone memories of each mortal error, but just knowing the _frequency_ was bothering him this time. Falling thirteen stories to your abrupt demise was bad enough _once_ , but three times, and one of those due to missing your own footing on over-elaborate stairs, was aggravating.

Everything was, at the moment. He leaned back further on the pillar, frowning at the sky. It wasn't even as if these temporarily-deadly tournaments were meant to be relaxing, but he had the distinct impression that everyone else at least managed to leave their everyday stresses behind. Behind the sudden-immediacy of pitched battle, admittedly, but it was difficult enough to aim at moving targets while climbing a tower, without half your brain still worrying about bee-overflows and power-relays. Or what the hell Honeydew might or might not be about to unleash into the orchards by buggering up _another_ transmutation. Or why Lalna was so interested in bloody _wither_ skeletons, of all things.

Xephos gave a sigh that sank into a growl halfway through, rolling his shoulders as he tried unsuccessfully to get them to stop feeling like someone had been crocheting with his muscle fibres.

"Alright there?" Ridge's voice broke into his thoughts, the post-Game energy clear in his accented tones, and Xephos moved his hand enough to look up to where the dapper man now hung above the platform edge, grinning, and practically vibrating in the air. He tried to meet the smile, but it didn't quite come out right, and he sighed as Ridge dropped down, raising a quizzical brow.

"I guess. _You_ look smug as ever," he said, possibly a little more sharply than he'd meant to, but Ridge just grinned wider, twisting his hands out either side of him as if he were on display.

"It's a gift, what can I say?" The demigod's dark stare tracked across Xephos' face, then he glanced back down through the underlying glass. "Bad run for you this time?"

Xephos pulled a face.

"That's a way to put it. Well, you're welcome. Ever glad I can break my neck repeatedly for your weird high." He stopped, sighed again and shook his head. "…sorry. Everything's a bit… busy, at the moment. Change in location, new machines, massive polar shift in thaumic fundamentals – or whatever the fuck Lalna keeps calling it, when he's not finding another way to blow himself up."

He winced as his shoulders gave another twinge and reached up, rubbing ineffectually at his neck, and managed a slightly-rueful grin in Ridge's direction as he nodded towards the brocade-cuffed wrists.

"I just never expected to need to pipe angry, fire-breathing bees through creeper-infested ravines. Honestly. I'm sure _you_ and your friggin'… _magic hands_ wouldn't be bothered, but – yeah. Well. Bad run."

Ridge tilted his head, exaggeratedly thoughtful, then the grin was back as he caught onto Xephos' arm, pulling him away from the pillar and spinning him round. Xephos half-went to shrug him off, frowning.

"Oh, get off," he started, but Ridge planted his hands on his shoulders and patted them as he pushed down lightly.

"C'mon, Xeph; I don't want to send you back as a stress-ball." He ran his thumb firmly along one knotted muscle, and Xephos felt his shoulder twitch a little as the pressure slid past. There was always an element of overspill to Ridge's post-Game state, as if the manic energy he was suffused with extended further than he did, until he got it all under control. It was a bit like being touched by a contact-high, even through his shirt, but Xephos had only really experienced it accidentally before. The deliberate version was stronger, a fizzing, electric crackle under his skin, chasing aside anything as dully mortal as fatigue, and he blinked.

"That wasn't quite what I meant," he replied, but tilted his head forward a little anyway, as Ridge folded his hands firmly against his back again, and the enhanced pressure sent a few little ripples dancing down his spine. "But – alright, that's pretty good…"

Ridge laughed, quietly, and drummed his fingers against Xephos' shoulders, sinking individual points of shiver down into the tightened flesh.

"You said it yourself – magic hands." He was audibly grinning as he tugged at Xephos' coat, shimmying it down his arms and aside. "We're short on chairs, and the plaza's under lava, so it's going to have to be sitting or awkward."

Xephos snorted, but allowed himself to be guided down onto the platform glass, as Ridge dropped down behind him in a wave of frock, adjusting to bring his legs round to either side, until Xephos got the odd impression he was suddenly positioned in an armchair made of lounging demigod.

"Comfy?"

"Slightly," he replied, trying to find somewhere to put his hands that wasn't going to be overly personal. He settled for resting against his own knees, tilting himself forward again as he did so, and Ridge's fingers returned to his back, kneading firmly into the muscles either side. Little washes of escaping power rippled out from each contact, penetrating deeper than the touch, and Xephos let his eyelids slide closed, listening to his own breathing and the faint crackle of flame from below.

"You worry about them. Even here," Ridge said, almost idly, and Xephos gave a small shrug.

"Yeah, well. They're my friends. And they're all bloody insane, so someone has to – " he cut off, as Ridge's fingers dug into a particularly tangled spot, the tension unleashing in a bloom of sudden release that sent a deeper twitch through him than he might have expected, and Xephos' eyes rolled back slightly, his own grip tightening against his knees.

This really was pretty damn good…

"And you?" Ridge's voice was still playfully-bright, but there was something else in the tones now, an edge of careful focus usually missing from his hyped-up state. "Who worries about you?"

The intensity of the translated sensations was getting stronger, and Xephos felt his breath hitch in his chest for a moment, as he tried to form a controlled reply.

"Well, I mean, everyone really… but I'm – _me_ , y'know? I'm – not meant to – "

Another movement, as Ridge's palms slid up his back, and his voice failed. He tried to catch his breath, get the shake there back under control, but the gasp curled in his throat and escaped as a low moan. Ridge stopped as Xephos froze, an embarrassed flush rising onto his cheeks, and he could _feel_ the grin spreading across the face behind him.

"Tell me when to stop," Ridge said quietly, as his fingers began to circle again, pressing deeper and Xephos nearly yelped as the movement sent another wave of tiny shivers rippling down him, trailing ghosts of that touch further along his body. He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady.

"No – no, it's ffine – " he managed, but anything more coherent died as Ridge's fingers slid lower, dipping further into the neck of his shirt, and he leaned back a little more into the roving touch. It was possible he should be finding this… weirder, but they were so far beyond _weird_ by now anyway, that –

He'd barely known Ridge to visibly breathe, but suddenly there was a warm wash of air against his neck, and lips pressed – just for a moment – into the nape, leaving a lingering point of contact that seemed to spark under his skin.

"Tell me when to stop," Ridge muttered again, as he slid his hands further down, tracing firmly along Xephos' sides and dragging the same hot-shiver through him, before coming to rest above his hips. The feeling didn't stop, rolling downwards in a wave of familiar heat, and Xephos tried to steady himself once more as he suddenly became very, very aware of the other effects the heightened sensations were having.

Ridge's fingertips slid forward another inch, tucking under the edges of his shirt – and stopped. The cessation was almost painful, and Xephos couldn't hold back a groan at the frustratingly-stilled touch.

"It's – fine, Ridge," he said, shifting a little more impatiently than he meant to, and felt another rush of embarrassment as the demigod laughed again into his hair; he had a horrible moment of suspicion that this was an elaborate joke, somehow. "You don't have to – "

"I know." Ridge's hands slid up quickly, tugging the fabric of Xephos' shirt up until he was able to wriggle free. "But I want to."

"Er… good?" Xephos hazarded, as the smoky air washed goosebumps across his newly-exposed skin. Ridge laughed again, and any lingering concern crumbled as the firm press of those lips found his neck again, printing each tingling contact like punctuation across his shoulders.

"As I said – mortals – are adorable – " Each word brought another caress, pressing up against him with all of the man's impossible intensity condensed into each touch. His arms encircled Xephos, pulling him back against the ruffled expanse of his chest; hands slid round along his ribs and he half-choked in surprise as Ridge's fingertips traced the lines of his mapped-out scarring, digging his elegant nails into tender edges, and crackling the electric-tingle feel of him through flesh that Xephos had thought numbed years ago.

"Oh _god,_  " he gasped, as Ridge chuckled, bringing one hand up to press over his heart and tapping fingertips in time to the increasingly-frantic rhythm there. With each small impact he felt another pulse whip up around his own, surging through him alongside his pounding heartbeat, down limbs that tensed and shivered with the borrowed force of it.

"Breathe, Xeph," Ridge muttered, reminding, even as dark-bright points began to swim at the sides of Xephos' vision, and he struggled to do so, although there barely seemed to be _space_ for air in his chest.

The feel of Ridge himself – that so-familiar sensation which seemed to reach out from him much further that his actual form; impossibly reassuring and utterly terrifying in equal measure – swirled around them like a storm, with Xephos finding himself the unexpected centre of that all-pervading attention. Remembering to breathe seemed the least of his concerns, right now, but he felt Ridge's hand track back up to his throat, stroking firm fingers along his jaw as he tilted Xephos' head back, and it got easier – even with the whirling, electric fire of borrowed heartbeat in his veins, and the urgent rocking of his own hips as Ridge's other hand inched, infuriatingly slowly, further downwards.

"Tell me when to stop," Ridge repeated again, half-muffled into the back of his head, and Xephos nearly swallowed his tongue.

"Don't – you – fucking _dare_ ," he panted, swinging his own hands down to brace himself against the bordering legs, fine fabric bunching around his fingers, and propped his head back against the frock-cased shoulder behind – as much as it was possible to do when all his muscles seemed to have been replaced with sparking tensile wire. There was a shift of too-restrictive material as his trousers loosened, cool air washing over the aching heat of him and Xephos gave a tangled sound – pinned somewhere between agonised intoxication, as all his senses seemed to be going off at once, and the pounding insistence between his thighs.

Then Ridge's fingers closed around his cock, his teeth sank into his shoulder, and the rest of Xephos' thoughts shut down. He was dimly conscious of words happening, spilling from his lips all so very far away; somewhere beyond the shift and spasm of his own muscles, in ragged time to the slick ministrations that arched him like a bow, taut and shaking against the calm elegance behind him. Every movement was torture, and ecstasy, all at once – because it was _Ridge_ and it could be nothing else, not with the duality of him; especially here.

Xephos moaned and thrust unashamedly into each motion now, as the relentless dexterity of a touch that could reshape firmament worked him without pause, and the ever-tightening spiral of amplified sensation clawed at his mind; tearing him down and dragging him back again – again – _again_ – until there was nothing but _this_ , here, now, breaking and rebuilding him with every stroke. He was unravelling, teetering on the sharpened edge of oblivion for a few drawn-out, desperate heartbeats; and then his climax burst even that apart in white-out brilliance behind his eyes, as he shuddered and screamed and spent across Ridge's hands.

 _Breathe, Xeph_.

He was very, very vaguely aware of falling back again – into himself, back against the so-steady presence behind him – as the hands traced over him again, but softly now, in time to the gentle muttering above. Ridge's arms curled back around him again, managing to bring more coat with them this time, and Xephos sank back into the embrace, as he felt a brief, careful press of lips against his forehead.

He felt – well, he felt a _lot_ of things, and there would doubtless be a lot more once the afterglow cleared, but right at that moment? He felt… safe. Actually safe; not just hovering in those wary moments that went on for years, waiting for the next disaster to drop.

It was nice.

He didn't know how long he lay there, with more normal awareness filtering slowly back, and wrapped in variably-Euclidean fabric, but eventually he was forced to concede to more practical considerations; starting with how much of his own cheek he had bitten into, and the increasing chill from the spilled dampness across his stomach. Ridge loosened his grip as Xephos started readjusting himself to some semblance of decorum – although where his shirt had actually _gone_ was anyone's guess. He glanced down, noting with a twinge of misplaced guilt where there were little bloody crescents cut through the material over Ridge's thighs.

"…sorry about that," he managed, his voice a little raw, and he could _hear_ the grin of reply.

"Nah; my fault, anyway." Ridge hesitated, almost imperceptibly, and brushed a hand gently down Xephos' bare arm. "You okay?"

Xephos reached round and closed his own fingers over the drifting digits, as he craned back until he could meet that fathomless gaze. There was visible concern there, just underneath the more usual expression, and he found a smile twitching at his own lips.

"Yeah." He shook his head, as the smile widened and Ridge's own grin rose back to meet it. "Yeah, I am."

They stood up, with a couple of false starts on Xephos' part, as his knees still seemed to be more of a jelly than a joint. The landscape below the glass platform was in its expected state of charred disarray by now, and Xephos leaned on Ridge's arm, staring out across the collapsing scenery until he trusted his legs to actually support him again.

There were concerns starting to prickle at the back of his mind; not really at the fore yet, but building strength. He should _say_ something, although actually teasing sensible phrasing out of his thoughts was proving difficult.

"Ridge, I – I'm not… Oh for Pete’s _sake_ – " he stopped, rubbing at his face with one hand, and grimaced at the inelegance of language. Ridge laughed.

"I _know_ , Xeph," he said, quietly. "You don't need to – "

"But I want to," Xephos cut in again, pressing his own fingers across his eyes, staring into the shadows behind his knuckles as if he could find the right words there, helpfully printed onto his palm. There was obviously nothing, but another glimmer of thought lit up as he searched. It wasn't ideal – what was? – but it seemed close enough, and he turned, until they were face-to-face again.

"I would miss you. If you died," he said, carefully, and for a moment the strata of meanings beneath those words hung almost-visible around them, glinting, unseen in the smoke-stained air. Ridge reached up, gently trailing a thumb down the edge of Xephos' jaw; just contact this time, but he leaned into the touch slightly anyway, letting out a slow breath. The demigod smiled, and for a second, just before the standard wicked gleam caught into place around the expression, there was something else there, softer and almost… older, somehow; then it was gone, and he winked as he held out the discarded folds of Xephos' own coat.

"I'd hope so. Ready to go?"

Xephos swung the coat back around his shoulders – he was pretty sure that the state of clothing didn't _actually_ cross over into these otherworld jaunts, but even so it'd be better to be sure – and nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks, for – well… " he stopped, giving an inadvertent snort of amusement at his own phrasing, and Ridge waggled his eyebrows as he winked.

"Anytime." The grin that accompanied _that_ was so thoroughly lascivious that Xephos couldn't stop himself dissolving into laughter, even as Ridge's hand settled on the side of his face, and he felt power start to shift around the splayed fingers.

The Game had some new rules, it seemed.

He could live with that.

\---


End file.
